Chaucer And His Times Part 4

... alle maner of minstrales And gestiours,[44] that tellen tales Bothe of weping and of game, Of al that longeth unto Fame.

Amongst these are all the famous harpers and singers of old days, and close by stand

... hem that maken blody soun In trumpe, beme[45] and clarioun.

A curiously carved gate gives admission to the castle, and entering, Chaucer finds a large number of knights-at-arms pouring out of a great hall. The hall itself is

plated half a fote thikke Of gold ...

and set with precious stones. Here the Lady Fame sits on a throne, her feet resting on earth and her head touching the heavens. The nine Muses sing her praises eternally, and on either side of her are pillars on which stand the historian Josephus and the poets Statius, Homer, Virgil, Ovid, Lucan, and Claudian:--

The halle was al ful y-wis, Of hem that writen olde gestes, As ben on trees rokes nestes.

Suddenly a great noise is heard, and there bursts into the hall a mult.i.tude of people of every race and every condition come to prefer their requests to Fame. Some beg

"That thou graunte us now good fame, And lete our werkes han that name; In ful recompensacioun Of good werk, give us good renoun;"

others said

"Mercy, lady dere!

To telle certain, as. .h.i.t is, We han don neither that ne this But ydel al our lyf y-be.

But, natheles, yit preye we, That we mowe han so good a fame And greet renoun and knowen name, As they that han don n.o.bel gestes ..."

others--

"But certeyn they were wonder fewe,"

cried

"Certes, lady brighte, We han don wel with al our mighte; But we ne kepen have no fame.

Hyd our werkes and our name, For G.o.ddes love! for certes we Han certeyn doon hit for bountee And for no maner other thing."

Their requests are granted or refused with absolute capriciousness. Fame is attended by Eolus, who according to her direction blows a black trumpet called Sclaunder (Slander) or a golden clarion called Clere Laude (Clear Praise), and these trumpets are used as the whim takes her. Evil men have good fame, and good men are slandered, or on the other hand, both receive their deserts without any reason except Fame's good pleasure. As Chaucer stands watching the endless procession, a man approaches him and asks if he too has come to receive fame. The poet hastily protests against any such desire, and explains that he has come for--

Tydinges, other this or that Of love, or swiche thinges glade.

The stranger bids him follow him to another place, and leads him to

An hous, that _domus Dedali_, That _Laborintus_ cleped is.

It is made of sticks and twigs and continually spins round and round:--

And ther-out com so greet a noise That, had it stonden upon Oise, Men mighte hit han herd esely To Rome, I trowe sikerly.

And on the roof men may yit seen A thousand holes, and wel mo, To leten wel the soun out go.

This is the house of Rumour, to which come tidings

Of werre, of pees, of mariages, Of reste, of labour of viages,[46]

Of abood[47] of deeth, of lyfe, Of love, of hate, accorde, of stryfe, etc.

Here Chaucer meets the eagle again, who tells him that he is once more prepared to become his guide, and without more ado seizes him "bitweene his toon" and puts him in through the window. The house is full of people all busy whispering in each other's ears:--

Whan oon had herd a thing, y-wis, He com forth to another wight, And gan him tellen, anoon-right, The same that to him was told, Or hit a furlong-way was old, But gan somwhat for to eche To this tyding in this speche More than hit ever was.

And nat so sone departed nas That he fro him, that he ne mette With the thridde; and or he lette Any stounde,[48] he tolde him als; Were the tyding sooth or fals, Yit wolde he telle hit natheless.

Out of the windows fly lies and truths, jostling each other, and Fame decides which shall prevail. s.h.i.+pmen and pilgrims, pardoners and messengers, crowd into the house with boxes crammed with marvellous stories. In one corner of the great hall men are telling love stories, the poet goes to listen to these. Here, just when the climax appears to be in sight, the poem breaks off in the middle of a sentence. Remarkable as it is, full of humour and shrewd observation, and with signs of Chaucer's genius for narrative, it is not in his most characteristic vein. _Troilus and Criseyde_ had already given promise of genius of a very different order, and it is possible that Chaucer himself grew weary of the smooth monotony of his own verse, and felt within him a growing impulse to produce something more human and more vivid. The _Hous of Fame_ is an almost perfect example of a type of poem whose popularity was to continue undiminished for another century and more. It was imitated again and again, and a comparison between it and such works as Lydgate's _Temple of Glas_ is sufficient to show the difference between genius and talent even when genius in working with not wholly congenial material. If Chaucer's reputation rested upon the _Book of the d.u.c.h.esse_, the _Parlement of Foules_, the _Hous of Fame_, and the _Legend of Good Women_, a few scholars would know and appreciate his work, and anthologies would probably make the majority of readers acquainted with a few carefully-chosen extracts, but he would have done little or nothing to break down the literary conventions of his day. It would need a keen eye to discern in these the dawn of a new era, without the light thrown upon them by _Troilus and Criseyde_ and the _Canterbury Tales_.

The _Legend of Good Women_ is said by Lydgate to have been written at the Queen's request. The general plan is taken from Boccaccio's _De Claris Mulieribus_, and Chaucer also translates freely from the _Heroides_ and the _Metamorphoses_ of Ovid. The interest of the poem lies in the Prologue, which consists of nearly six hundred lines, and of which there are two distinct versions. The poet describes how in the spring he goes out into the fields to wors.h.i.+p the daisy, and he gives a long and poetical description of this "emperice and flour of floures alle." That night he sleeps in a little arbour in his garden, and in a dream he sees the G.o.d of love leading by the hand a queen clothed in green and gold and of surpa.s.sing beauty. Here follows a ballad in her praise. A rout of ladies now appears, and they all kneel down and sing the praise of their queen.

The poet kneels among them, but presently the G.o.d of love catches sight of him and declares that he is a traitor and heretic for he has translated the _Romance of the Rose_--

That is an heresye ageyns my lawe,

and has also written of the fickleness of Cressida--

Why noldest thou as wel han seyd goodnesse Of women, as thou hast seyd wikkednesse?

The queen, who is none other than Alcestis, intercedes for him, reminding the irate G.o.d that the poet is also the author of the _Book of the d.u.c.h.esse_, the _Parlement of Foules_, the story of _Palamon and Arcite_, to say nothing of

"... many an ympne for your haly-dayes."[49]

and the _Lyf of St. Cecyle_. She therefore begs that he may be forgiven, and in token of true contrition he shall spend the most part of his time

In making of a glorious Legende Of G.o.de Women, maidenes and wyves, That weren trewe in lovinge al hir lyves.

The legends which follow are the result of this command, and the definition of virtue given above accounts for the inclusion of such "good women" as Cleopatra and Medea. The plan of the poem necessarily involved sameness of treatment. Chaucer grew tired of his heroines, and of the twenty legends which he seems to have planned, only nine were written. The stories of Cleopatra, Thisbe, Dido, Hypsipyle and Medea, Lucretia, Ariadne, Philomela, Phyllis, and Hypermnestra, are strung together somewhat perfunctorily. As the names show, they are all drawn from Latin authors, but with the usual freedom of a medieval translator Chaucer does not hesitate to alter the originals to suit his purpose. He wishes to show the torments and constancy of love's martyrs, and without scruple he blackens the characters of Jason and aeneas and Theseus, in order to bring out the virtues of Medea, Dido, and Ariadne. The legends show little of the humour and freshness of Chaucer's other poems. Occasionally a description of the lover's pa.s.sion recalls some similar pa.s.sage in _Troilus and Criseyde_, and the mere fact that the interest centres in emotion rather than action is in itself of importance, but Hercules, in the legend of Hypsipyle, is a poor subst.i.tute for Pandarus, and the perpetual recurrence of the love _motif_ tends to weaken its effect. The two versions of the Prologue show many interesting points of difference.

Mention has already been made of the supposed intervention of the Queen, through which Chaucer obtained permission to appoint a deputy to a.s.sist him in his office work. It is supposed that this incident must have occurred after the writing of the first prologue and before the writing of the second, for while the whole poem is written in Queen Anne's honour, the second prologue contains numerous pa.s.sages expressing the poet's grat.i.tude and affection, which are not found in the first. She is

... of alle floures flour, Fulfilled of al vertu and honour.

She is the clernesse and the verray light That in this derke worlde me wynt and ledeth,

For as the sonne wol the fyr disteyne[50]

So pa.s.seth al my lady sovereyne, That is so good, so fair, so debonaire; I prey to G.o.d that ever falle hir faire!

Another striking change in the second version is the omission of certain too explicit lines in which the poet had dared to set forth the duties of kings towards their subjects. Part of this wise advice still remains, but evidently Chaucer found it dangerous to call Richard's attention to the necessity for hearing his people's pet.i.tions and complaints, and the later version contents itself with a more general statement that kings should

... nat be lyk tiraunts of Lumbardye That han no reward but at tirannye.

It is also noteworthy that several words which appear in their older form in the first version are modernised in the second (_e. g._ in the first line _sythes_ becomes _tymes_), so that it is possible to see the language in actual process of development.

Chaucer's last and greatest work, the _Canterbury Tales_, was begun in 1386--though as has been shown, certain isolated tales, or rough sketches for tales, were already in existence--and the composition continued till 1389, when it--like so many of his other poems--was left unfinished. A number of fugitive pieces and lyrics also date from about this time, as does the prose _Treatise on the Astrolabe_ written for his little son, Lewis.